Stasis
by Eyes of Shinigami
Summary: What would it be like to be trapped without motion, forced to watch the centuries go by? Nataku knows. Written for Raine Ishida.


TITLE: Stasis

AUTHOR: Eyes of Shinigami

PAIRING: None, but I guess it can be read as slight NatakuxGoku

RATING: K+

WARNINGS: mild Gaiden references, mostly.

SUMMARY: What would it be like to be trapped without motion, forced to watch the centuries go by? Nataku knows. Inspired by the lyrics to "Bring Me to Life" by Evanesence. Not a songfic per se, but you'll find some of the lyrics used in the story

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Saiyuki, or Nataku. But, sometimes, I really wish I did. Oh, and I don't own the lyrics either.

_(This fic is dedicated to Raine Ishida, in thanks for her beautiful fanart of Liturgy!Goku. This one's for you, babe. Hope you like it! I love you!)_

_-----_

_My spirit sleeping somewhere cold…_

Sitting, always sitting on his self-made perch. Perhaps this was the punishment for his insolence, to forever be trapped in a state of stillness and forced to watch. Pain and grief spasms through his body on occasion, though his expressionless mask would never reveal his thoughts to the world. They stay hidden well behind dull eyes and a blank stare, not even a Goddess could see. Though, sometimes, he is sure that she knows.

He has neither the strength nor the will to stand, so instead he stays motionless and without feeling. What good would it to do him now? He is alone, the only friend he has ever known was banished from Paradise for crimes the heretic was driven to commit. But, spilling blood and staining Heaven's pristine façade is unforgivable, so they say. So, instead, he merely sits and watches the world go by in the crystal surface between the lotus blossoms.

_Bid my blood to run…_

He has forgotten how to move, to live. There is nothing to live for, after all, in these beautiful, sterile halls filled with naïveté. These fools that surround him know nothing of the world, preferring to keep it that way. No, they allowed him to be the bearer of their burdens and turned a blind eye to the erosion of his own soul. Stains that cannot be seen mar the very essence of his insides, another reason to stand by and merely watch. He isn't clean enough to participate, he reasons. That's right.

Some days he doesn't mind the silence of his prison, flesh and bone instead of iron bars and shackles. It gives him time to reflect, to think how things could have been different. 'What ifs' plague his mind from centuries of witnessing the world shifting and changing beneath the blind eye of Heaven. Other days, he wishes he could be there with them, in their adventures that constantly test the thin threads of their mortality. He can remember when he fought battles, learned what it was like to live through bloodshed. The adrenaline rushing through his immortal veins at the prospect of dying, the idea of losing not an option. In the bloodlust of the fight he would know that he was alive, and not just the puppet martyred to keep the hands of the gods free of sin.

From a puppet to a lifeless doll. How ironic.

_Breathe into me and make me real…_

He longs to be by their side, the Rebels that threw caution to the wind to stand together. Despite knowing the punishments for their impudence, forced to live lives of pain and suffering equal to their crimes against the gods, he wishes to be one of them. Even with the weight of their sins upon them, he sees the four of them doing what they do best; living life their own way, answering to no one. Inside, he smiles fondly and pumps his fist in the air in triumph. He cannot will his body to follow, but he is there in spirit.

Occasionally, he sees Goku look over his shoulder and his internal smile accompanies a pang of sadness and regret. If he had done _something _differently, maybe he would be down there with them, the fifth hellion on the mission from the gods. The adventures they could have, the thrill it would be to constantly fight for your own existence! After all, the Goddess always says that it's the knowledge their lives will end one day that drives them to live the way they do. If only he could know that exhilaration, that freedom.

_Only you are the life among the dead…_

He can remember them clearly, moving along in the dull flow of life in Paradise and going through the motions like everyone else. It wasn't until _he _appeared, damned to a life of being shunned and regarded as a blemish on perfect existence for merely being born. Golden eyes eerily alight with mischief and life, his presence was infectious. He could recount the first time they met, laughing so hard his sides ached and he thought he would never stop. The others felt it too, morphing into brightness against the washed-out backdrop of Paradise.

For the first time, he felt as though there were reason for him to live, to keep fighting from sinking into the abyss his life had become. He found that life was no longer boring, and the weight of Heaven on his shoulders had lessened. Someone wished to help carry that burden and it touched him. He never forgot that, the memory what has kept him from disappearing completely through the endless ages tumbling past.

_Without a thought…_

The other gods mock him when the Goddess isn't looking, tsking under their breath that it's such a shame that he just sits there. Lost in the sea of his own mind, unresponsive and staring blindly into the pool at his feet. Such a shame.

What they don't know is that he can hear them, and he knows what they say. He's not the soulless shell that they believe him to be. He just sees no reason to join their numberless ranks in the oppressive walls of Heaven.

_Without a voice…_

And what would he say, if his mouth could form words? He would probably curse them, mock them right back for being so naïve and blind. He would tell them how their lives were a joke, a pathetic excuse for existence. The outcasts were _living, _while these gods just played pretend. Fakers.

But, he cannot speak. He cannot will himself to allow his voice to be heard, because really, is there anyone there worth speaking to? No, there isn't. Instead, they would just hear him and not listen. Wasting the energy would be pointless.

_Without a soul…_

The gods whisper about the day he lost his soul, turning his sword on himself to save the one person he cared about. What they don't know was that he freed himself that day, and for a glorious moment before he fell he stood with them, the ones who led a quiet insurrection against the gods themselves. He shook off the power lust of his father and was in control of his own thoughts, if only for that one moment. He is not soulless; it is merely free where his body cannot be.

_Bring me to life…_

Perhaps one day he will find the strength to leave his chair, feel the tingle of atrophied muscles burning with life once more. He will leave this place and its pristine serenity behind to join in the rough-and-tumble life the four of them lead and get his hands dirty again. No longer will he be the faceless puppet of Heaven, but follow the way of the Hellions that Heaven curses, and live his life as it was given to him. Be an outcast, fall from grace like those he admires and watches over.

He's sure that day will come, eventually. Until then, though, he will remain vigilant with his expressionless face and seemingly unseeing eyes.

One day.

-End-


End file.
